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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996823">Broken Plates</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel'>p_totel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Forced Feminization, M/M, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, reek just wants to be a good wife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reek's job really isn't complicated. It's to make dinner for his Mast- Lord Husband. However, cooking is pretty difficult when you're missing three fingers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Broken Plates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Reek felt like crying as he rushed, the plates clanking against each other as he tried  to hold them still in his mangled fingers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is here, he is here, he is here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mind repeated in panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the cottage, tree branches cracked under heavy steps. Eerily relaxed, heavy boots with steel soles. Stepping in slow rythm. Like creeping, terrifying church bells, counting down moments to someone's wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pink dress on Reek ruffled as he moved around the kitchen in panic, trying to get everything ready. Ready just enough so that his Lord wouldn't be angry, ready so that everything could go smoothly- as smoothly as it possibly could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cooking was a hard task when you missed three fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap. Tap. Tap. That's three stairs. Creak... the first step on the porch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, most of things were a hard task when you missed three fingers, but there was only one thing Reek had to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was to make dinner.</span>
</p><p><span>Reek knew how those things went. His Mas- no, </span><em><span>Lord Husband now</span></em><span>, was out, hunting and doing </span><em><span>important things</span></em><span> and Reek had just one responsibility. To make him dinner. To have a warm meal waiting for him when he returns, tired and weary from another day in the woods. To fulfill his duties – to let his Lord eat, to take off his coat and then </span><em><span>ple-</span></em> <em><span>pleasure</span></em><span> him in the bed.</span></p><p>
  <span>Ramsay made it sure to politely explain it to him. Especially the last part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Reek's duty as a wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„But- m'lord, 'm not a...“ he still remembered that exchange.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„You're not a what? Woman?“ his Lord snickered, his sharp teeth showing. „Come here.“ He said and held out his hand.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then his Lord grabbed Reek's wrist and placed it between his muscular thick legs. Reek's cheeks went red – no matter how many times he's seen him naked or- or did even more intimate things, truly, he was still embarrassed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„What do I have here, Reek?“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„A- a cock. M'lord.“ He swallowed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„So I am a...?“ cold eyes flickered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„A man. M'lord.“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suddenly, his wrist was sharply turned around and brought between his own skinny trembling thighs that resembled two very sad chicken bones.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>„And what do you have, Reek?“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Reek didn't know how to reply.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So Reek left that discussion to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a scar between his legs – an always ugly one, pulsating and hurting. It wasn't a womanly cunt even though his Lord called it such. It wasn't a cock either. Reek didn't really remember what used to be in that scar's place, really. Or if anything ever was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek usually ended up shrugging it all off though. Of course his Lord was a right. He wasn't a man. Why else would he be wearing a dress then? Why else would he be someone's wife? And being a wife brought many hard but important duties and Reek tried to do his best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gripping a pan handle was hard when your pinky and ring finger were missing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ho~o~oooo~m~eee.” loud thump of door was followed by a cheery singing voice, Jolliness that hid a threat. An offhanded one; voice which might escape someone who knew him less than Reek did, but no. To Reek, that was on par with thunders of Storm God striking the sea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flinched in fear and dropped the pots, hurrying to take off Ramsay’s coat. His husband lowered his head; good head and some taller than him; and Reek prompted up on his toes to reach him and place a kiss on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like an rehearsed play and both of them knew it. The only missing thing was the audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-how was your day? M’m-lord-” the second word was always tough to get over his chapped lips, “m’lord husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ramsay groaned and let Reek’s mangled hands handle his cloak as he kicked the door behind himself. “Had to take care of some things. I really, really do not appreciate poachers in our woods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek knew exactly what happened to those poachers. Ramsay didn’t have to say anything. The picture in his mind was clear - poacher, skinned, nailed to a tree as a warning to anyone who dares to enter the woods of Leech Lord - Roose Bolton. Once you realized what his wild son was capable of, you didn’t make the same mistake twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hissing sounds from the cauldron hanging over fire jerked Reek from his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh, no, no, no-!” a yelp caught in his throat and he dropped the cloak on a chair and hobbled towards the counter. The stew started spilling over the edge of steel pot, dripping on the fire, thick liquid sloshing left and right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ramsay simply stood there, peaceful and stoic, still at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with his back turned, Reek could feel scorching look on his spine, heated ice making him lose his breath. He was late anyway; the dinner was supposed to be served and waiting for his lord but- but tasks were getting heavier and heavier for him. The more Ramsay hit him, the more he flayed, the more he starved him - it was just - it was impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Reek managed to shut off the fire, the only remains being tingling coal and sparks. Ramsay sat for the table. A perfectly normal thing, isn’t it? No. Not to Reek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushed to grab a ladle and a plate, his ragged breaths straining his loudly beating chest. He poured some of the hot stew in the deep plate, cheramic getting heated between his ruined palms. Fine, at least that was done. He rushed towards the table; it wasn’t far away, it was just a few steps, and then-.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pink frills on his dress tangled between his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really - just a misstep of flowy fabric, one wrong move, one wrong toe - was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came down crashing like a tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing he knew was that he was on the floor. His hitching raspy breaths went silent. He was pretty sure he would never breathe again, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stew was on the floor. Shatters of plate on the wooden planks. Ladle had rolled to Ramsay’s feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence lasted for an entire minute, and to Reek it seemed like an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reek.” the reply finally came and poor creature jolted his head up to meet his master’s eyes. There was a soothing, patient tone in it. “My sweet wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever was going to happen was terrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek sobbed. He was. He always hurt, and he didn’t know if his knees and his sore chest were from this specific fall or one of countless others. He tried to prop up on his elbows and get up but it made him wince in pain, and a few tears rolled down his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Ramsay’s voice was soothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek saw a big hand descend before the long strands of his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sobbed in gratitude and grabbed on it. Was it possible? Did Master see how overworked, how exhausted his Reek was? He knew very well Master wouldn’t push him past the point of breaking for good. He still wanted his toy. He still wanted his Reek-.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bit weak.” Ramsay sat back on the chair and pulled Reek in his lap, moving the bangs from his sea green eyes. His fingers gently brushed against Reek’s cheeks and he nodded. Reek </span>
  <em>
    <span>ryhmes</span>
  </em>
  <span> with weak. He knew it very well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it because you’re hungry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek’s lips pressed together tighter and he decided honesty was the best policy. He compliantly nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. It’s okay. You are just hungry. That’s why you’re shaking.” Ramsay toyed with Reek’s tiny, boney hand in his big one. “That’s why your lady hands are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span> that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t hold a plate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tone was obviously condescending but also, it was true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ramsay got up and Reek slid off his lap but was quickly caught by his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, let’s feed you then.” Ramsay’s voice was chirpy, like a morning bird. Was it… possible? Did he… did he really… did he really notice? Was there kindness in his heart? </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was such a stupid thought; Master has shown his kindness more than enough times. Reek knew to be grateful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It actually smells really nice.” Ramsay led him to the cauldron. “Go get yourself a plate, my love.” he gently pet Reek’s hair and the creature smiled, showing his crooked teeth. He hopped away; well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hobbled away</span>
  </em>
  <span> more like it to the big cupboard on the wall to grab some utensils for himself. He could barely hold the spoon but-. Maybe his Lord would allow it this time. For Reek, to eat like a human, not like a dog-.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back, the plate in his hand, and Ramsay gently grabbed his waist. It nearly was like he was his wife. Like they would </span>
  <em>
    <span>dance</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the night or something. After all, his Lord </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>handsome and Reek didn’t know how he could’ve ever found him ugly. It was just silly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here.” Ramsay pulled him closer. “My poor, hungry little pet. Aren’t you?” he placed a kiss on Reek’s forehead and Reek nodded in joy. He was. He was hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s feed you then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” Reek suddenly jolted. “M’lord- the ladle- it’s, it’s still on the floor-.” he tried to turn around and rush to get it, but he was firmly sewed in the place with a strong hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladle?” Bastard’s grin went wide, his eyes overshadowed by his dark hair. “Now, why would you need a ladle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek realized in split of a second what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before he even managed to scream, his hair was grabbed and his head showed in the stewing hot cauldron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He screeched from burning pain of thick fluid, and he screamed, and screamed, until he didn’t know if he was being shoved in the Hell or in the stew or if it was the same thing. Pieces of meat flowed around him. His face was melting. He had no idea if he would ever see it in the mirror again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it three minutes? For hours? How long was his head shoved under? Why hadn’t he died already? Each second was like an hour, a burning, hellish hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, let me die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought in desperation, but just as he thought that a fist at his hair pulled him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took in a huge breath, the stew sliding down his throat. His face was still burning. Heat entered his every pore and wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still hungry?” a low groan harked by his ear. Reek shook his head, still trying to regain his breath through worked chokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Get the fuck out of my sight.” Bolton grabbed his hair once more and threw him on the floor. Reek fell on his back and scrambled on all fours, his hands and feet slipping on the wet stew and sharp pieces of broken plates. He scurried away like a mouse in panic. Snot from his nose and tears messed with the awful burn on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reek didn’t know how much time had passed. He rolled himself in a little ball in corner and licked his wounds, like a hurt stray dog, sniffing as quietly as possible so that his Master doesn’t hear him. Especially now, when he was angry. Especially now when he was hungry and was probably pouring the stew alone; which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reek’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>duty. He sobbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only fear greater than the punishment that was sure to follow was another fear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if he’s so angry, that he throws his Reek out? What if there is no forgivness for this mistake? What should- what should Reek do? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tears filled his eyes as he curled on himself even more, the cold corner of the room doing very little to cool him down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he was yanked from his thoughts by a loud noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bowl was thrown in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There. Bitch. Feel free to eat.” Ramsay groaned in condescending tone, giving Reek a frigid look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stew spilled from the bowl on the floor but Reek immediately sat and looked up at his Lord. A breath of sheer gratitude and awe got caught in his throat and he scuttled to the mess on the floor, leaning down to lick up the remains while they weren’t yet cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ramsay watched him for a while, his lousy mood improving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clean it up. There’s more of a mess in the kitchen, too.” He turned around and left. Reek nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a kind Master.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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